


come on, England!

by leiascully



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-09
Updated: 2006-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Quidditch World Cup!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	come on, England!

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Marauders  
> A/N: The prompt was "flag". I was watching the World Cup at the time.  
> Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling and Scholastic. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The pitch is green and glowing in the early light, dew fresh and perfectly trimmed. The four of them stand on the edge in reverent silence. James' father is in the stands, chatting with one of the officials. Their voices float over the pitch.

"This is it, men," says Sirius. He has an England flag draped over his shoulders and no shirt, and his belly is all goosebumps in the morning chill. "We are standing on the edge of history." Remus shrugs his sweater sleeves a little longer so he can pull them down his wrists and crosses his arms. He wonders where Sirius comes up with these phrases and why they sound plausible coming from that arrogant mouth. James is too awed to speak. His glasses are slipping down his nose and absentmindedly he bobs his head instead of just pushing them up, too involved in looking. Peter sighs, blissful.

"God, your dad is brilliant," he says to James, who isn't listening. "Quidditch World Cup! England and Romania!"

"Yes, it will be a weekend to remember," says Sirius standing heroically with his hands braced on his hips. "Can you smell that, Moony? That's the sweet reek of victory."

"I think that's the mown grass," says Remus under his breath, but he breathes deep. He likes Quidditch well enough, the grace of the players in the air and the geometry of the four balls, but he isn't obsessed the way the other three are.

And suddenly the English team is circling above them, streaks in the quiet air. Three loops around the pitch and one of the players arrows down and half-vaults off his broom. "What's this, then? Trials aren't til next year, lads. Bulk up a bit and come back."

Remus takes a quick survey over his overwhelmed companions and gestures toward the stands. "We're with Mr. Potter? He said no one would be out yet."

"Oho," says the chaser, sizing them up with new eyes. "You'd be the Potter lad, with the hair." Sirius ruffles his hair hurriedly in hopes of appearing Potterish, but the chaser is talking to James. "I went to uni with your da. I hear you're all the talk of the school Quidditch scene." James gulps and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"I do my best, sir."

"That's all we ask," says the chaser amiably, tousling James' dark hair. "Maybe I will see you up for a trial in a few years." He swings his leg over the broom and is away before James can formulate a response.

Sirius collapses theatrically against Remus. "I think I've found religion," he whispers, clutching his heart. James has gone mute again. Peter is pink. They watch the players for a long breathless moment and the rising sun turns all the balls to gold.

"Da!" James shouts suddenly, and his voice cracks a little. He scrambles off to his father, to share the encounter as if he is five again, and not almost a man. Peter follows him, almost skipping.

"I don't understand all this fuss," says Remus. "He's not a god descended. He's just a man who's good at sport. Fit, yes. Holy, no."

"I like it when you're jealous, Moony," says Sirius. "And when you're warm." He huddles closer to Remus, turning the breadth of his shoulders against Remus' in an uncommonly public proximity. He puts cool fingers under the hem of the sweater, crooked over Remus' hip bone. "And fortunately, I will always like you better than Quidditch." He kisses Remus under the jaw, swift and surreptitious, and then breaks away and flings his arms wide.

"Come on, ENGLAND!" he shouts, and Remus is in love.


End file.
